We've had our first poultry casualty. Poor Buffy (the lady pictured in the previous post) was eaten by some animal in the night. A and T found her remains this morning. The other girls were alive, but agitated. We don't know what happened or who got into the coop (possum? raccoon? cat?). We'll have to work with the neighbor to strengthen our little chicken fortress. I'm sad it was Buffy. Even though she was a little slower than the others, she was sweet and soft and pretty. I hope it doesn't come back. I'd kind of miss their crazy-eyed, head-jabbing, dash to meet me at feeding time each day.
To celebrate summer we went berry picking last thursday. It was great. The weather was warm and pleasant. The farm wasn't too busy. The boys had a great time. We brought home plenty of berries to eat and mix into freezer jam. Then it happened. A few hours after we were home, H ran into the kitchen and threw up (what seemed like) cups and cups of strawberry red vomit. Luckily, one of my sisters was here to help since H and 1/3 of my kitchen were covered in puke. I thought he had just eaten too many strawberries, so we washed him up, tucked him into bed, cleaned the kitchen and went on with the dinner party that was planned for that evening. But, he wasn't done throwing up. He threw up. And threw up. On the third day, diarrhea joined in. Sometimes at the same time. I called the pediatrician's office only to find out that there is a stomach flu going around and it's most likely just a coincidence that it showed up on the same day as the berries. Hmm, what a coinky-dink! "Just keep him hydrated."
If you come to visit, we'll be tired, crying, still in our pajamas and folding a non-stop stream of linens. Please bring a sledgehammer.